


The Anxiety in the Illness

by Rochelle_Templer



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sickfic, friendship fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12783639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/Rochelle_Templer
Summary: When Sweets falls ill and Daisy is out of town, it falls on Brennan and Booth to take care of him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I used some of my OCs for Sweets' parents in this fic (which isn't exactly in line with canon), but other than that, it's pretty much canon compliant.

After hitting his snooze button on the alarm clock for the third time, Doctor Lance Sweets was forced to confront a fact he had been trying to avoid for the past two days: he was most definitely ill.

It had started over the weekend. At first, he thought that maybe he had caught a simple flu bug with the usual tiredness along with aches and pains. He planned on spending the weekend in his apartment, getting as much sleep as possible. But then he received an urgent phone call from work. Agent Cothern, who he had done a profile for in relation for a homicide, desperately needed him for a consult to go over some new evidence and leads in relation to his profile.

Sweets ended up spending hours at his office, fine-tuning his original profile and then going over the particulars of it with Cothern. To his credit, Cothern tried to make it up to Sweets by buying him some sandwiches and soups from one of the nearby delis so he wouldn’t have to go without eating. But the psychologist often found himself too nauseous to eat and mostly picked at his food over the course of those two days. By the end of the weekend, Sweets was thoroughly exhausted.

Now Monday morning had come, and Sweets dreaded facing the upcoming work week in his current condition.

He eventually dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Sweets knew that he looked terrible. But he hoped that a shower and a fresh suit would conceal his condition enough to be able to work without hassles.

While he got ready, the therapist decided that he should re-schedule the two therapy sessions he had lined up today so as to avoid spreading his illness to others. He briefly considered staying home altogether, but then remembered that he had a stack of profiling assignments that needed attending to including one for Booth which involved the deaths of several armed guards in a particularly audacious bankroll heist.

As he was walking out the door, Sweets considered calling an order for breakfast over to the Royal Diner and picking up before work to save time. The second his hand touched the phone, however, Sweets was struck by an overwhelming sense of nausea and ended up running back to the bathroom instead. He managed to crouch down in front of the toilet before vomiting up what little he had on his stomach from the past two days. Soon he was down to choking on dry heaves and was able to pull himself up onto shaky legs shortly after that.

While re-brushing his teeth and cleaning his face, Sweets decided to skip breakfast…and lunch for that matter.

* * *

 

After an initial good start, things swiftly went downhill for Sweets once he arrived at work. Thankfully, his secretary informed him that the two patients he was supposed to see that day had both canceled due to Bureau commitments, saving Sweets the trouble of having to contact them himself.

His good fortune did not remain as the day progressed. He locked himself up in his office and buried himself in profiles so as to avoid interacting with co-workers, hoping that he could ride his illness out. But after working for hours, the psychologist felt like he was stuck in a permanent brain fog that was making it difficult for him to complete his tasks. Even worse, not only did the weakness and nausea persist, it was soon accompanied by chills and a stubborn cough.  

Sweets tried taking a nap at one point to regain some strength, but was unable to fully rest due to his cough which was punctuated by sharp pains in his chest and by occasionally bringing up thick, dark phlegm.

The therapist soon gave up on sleeping and went back to his profiling as best he could. He had just completed another fit of coughing when Booth strode into his office.

“Hey Sweets, you got that profile I asked for?” the agent asked, leaning on the edge of the couch. “I’ve got some new leads that I was hoping you could help me narrow down.”

“Sure, just a minute,” Sweets mumbled as he slowly picked himself up out of his desk chair. He had worked on Booth’s profile when he first arrived and was now grateful that he had done that. It had taken him twice as long as usual to complete, and Sweets was convinced that if he had started it even just an hour later, he might not have had it done when Booth showed up.

“Here,” Sweets said dully, laying the file onto the coffee table across from the couch. He then immediately went back to his desk so that he could collapse back into his chair.

“Thanks,” Booth said picking the file up and thumbing through it. “Oh and by the way, Bones and me were planning on grabbing a drink after work. You want to come?”

“Thank you, but I have a lot of work left to do,” Sweets replied with more than a little regret in his voice. “I’m probably going to have to stay pretty late…Maybe next time?”

Sweets was unable to say anything else due to another violent coughing jag. Booth looked up from the file and walked over where the psychologist was sitting.

“Hey Sweets…are you all right?” Booth asked, concerned.

“I’m fine…Just a bug,” Sweets gasped out as he tried to regain some composure.

“You don’t sound fine,” the agent frowned. “Why don’t you go home and sleep this off?” Sweets shook his head.

“No, I have too much to do,” he rasped. “I have reports to finish and a load of other profiles to get started on so that I can…”

Sweets abruptly stopped talking when Booth reached over and put a hand to the therapist’s forehead.  Sweets blushed at the gesture.

‘ _What is he doing? Checking my temperature?’_ he thought to himself. While the psychologist was touched by Booth’s concern, he couldn’t shake the thought that Booth probably did things like this with Parker all the time.

“Listen, you’re starting to get a fever,” the agent said, moving his hand away. “You should go home and get some rest as soon as you can.” Booth then reached into his pocket and pulled out a card and pen. After writing on the card for a brief moment, he handed the card to Sweets.

“Ok, this doctor is a member of one of the offices that accepts the Bureau’s insurance plan,” Booth explained. “He’s been my doctor for a while now, and he’s a good, straight-forward kind of guy. You should go see him tomorrow so that you can get checked out.”

“Agent Booth, it’s just a cough…I’m sure it will…”

“Look, I’ll call and make sure he can squeeze you in tomorrow,” the agent continued, ignoring Sweets’ protests. “I’ll even make sure that your secretary sends your medical files over to his office first thing to make things easier for the both of you. You just make sure to call and set up an appointment whenever it’s easiest for you. Ok?”

“All right, I’ll go as soon as there’s a break in my schedule,” Sweets sighed.  The psychologist sensed that there was no way he would be able to argue his way around it. Worse still, he was starting to feel like a child around Booth.

“Great, I’ll just check up on you tomorrow,” Booth grinned, satisfied that he had gotten his way. He picked up the file that Sweets had given him.

“Take it easy, Sweets,” he said as he started to walk out. “And be sure to make that appointment tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you later,” Sweets said. Booth nodded and walked out, closing the door behind him. The therapist then turned to look down at all the paperwork on his desk and ran his hands over his face.

He was starting to get a second wind, and he hoped that that would be enough to get him through the rest of the day.

* * *

 

A few hours later, Sweets finally trudged back into his apartment. He had just barely been able to get his work done for the day and wanted nothing more than to go straight to bed. He took a moment in the kitchen to contemplate making himself a quick meal before sleeping, but when his stomach began to clench and lurch for the umpteenth time that day, Sweets quickly decided against it.

Instead he shrugged off his suit for some pajamas and turned up the thermostat in an effort to stop feeling so chilled. The psychologist then crawled into bed, and his eyes closed the second his head touched his pillow. It was a colossal struggle for him to make sure to set the alarm for the next morning, and once he was done, Sweets was completely drained.

But even though he craved sleep, it simply was not coming. Part of that was due to his alternating flashes of chills and fever, and part of that was due to his coughing which continued to make the pain in his chest worse.

Sweets knew that he should probably take Booth’s advice and see a doctor tomorrow, but he was hesitant to do so. It wasn’t because he feared doctors or hospitals in any way. Nor was it because he had an aversion to dealing with illness.

The truth was that it had far more to do with his medical history than anything else. Specifically, it was the necessity of explaining all of his old injuries to a new physician, including the scars that were carved into his shoulders.

Sweets wheezed while he contemplated this. If Brennan had been able to look at the psychologist’s X-rays, she would have seen that those scars were just one indication of his horrific past. There were also numerous fractures along with a couple breaks written into his bones. Sweets was sure that if she looked closely, she would have found other markers of injury as well.

Things like that were never easy to discuss to relative strangers, no matter how many years had passed.

The therapist was finally able to fall into a restless sleep. As he dreamed, his mind went back over his memories of doctor visits from his childhood…almost all of them unpleasant.

One memory was especially vivid, and Sweets relived it his dream.

* * *

 

_Lance was nine years old at this point and was due for his semi-annual checkup. His mother, Carolyn, was still recovering from an illness of her own, so his father, David ended up taking Lance to the doctor. Lance had also been feeling a bit under the weather, and considering his son’s medical history, David was eager to have him checked over for any possible health issues._

_When they arrived at the pediatrician’s office and David went to sign in, they were informed that Lance’s regular doctor was on sabbatical due to a family crisis. Lance would be seen by another doctor who was handling her patients for the next couple of weeks until a more permanent substitute could be found._

_After what seemed like an endless wait, the nurse called Lance and David back to be seen. She recorded Lance’s current height and weight, and then guided the two of them to an examination room._

_‘Ok Lance, you know the drill,’ the nurse smiled. ‘Get into that gown and the doctor will see you in a few minutes.’ After she left, David settled into a nearby chair and faced the wall so that Lance could have some privacy while he changed._

_‘All right, sport. Do what she says and this will be over before you know it,’ David said._

_Lance quickly changed and then moved to sit in David’s lap while they waited. Normally, Lance wasn’t keen on doing things like that in public, seeing himself as too old to be held like a child. But when he wasn’t feeling well, he drew a lot of comfort from close physical contact with his parents._

_Soon the door opened and a short, portly man with a wide grin walked in._

_‘Hello…I’m Doctor Forbert, and I’ll be standing in for Doctor Colinablanca today,” the man said as he strolled over to them._

_‘You must be Lance,’ Forbert grinned as he held out his hand. ‘And how are we feeling today, hmmm? A little yucky perhaps?’_

_Lance rolled his eyes even as he shook the doctor’s hand. He didn’t enjoy the somewhat condescending tone that Forbert was addressing him with, but he tried to remember what David had taught him about how adults not always being able to appreciate his intellect right away._

_‘I’m ok, I guess,’ Lance shrugged. ‘Just kind of tired.’_

_‘Actually, Doctor, Lance has been not feeling well for a couple of days now,’ David added. ‘He hasn’t been sleeping enough, and his stomach has been bothering him.’_

_‘Well let’s see if we can fix that’ Forbert nodded as he glanced over Lance’s charts again. ‘Lance could you hop up on that table for me?’_

_Lance complied and sat as still as he could as the doctor examined him. At first, things were very routine, but then Forbert asked him to open his gown in the back a little bit so that he could listen to Lance’s breathing with a stethoscope. The doctor had not been entirely successful in suppressing a gasp, and Lance instantly felt a hundred times more uncomfortable._

_The rest of the examination was spent mostly in silence, after which Forbert left for a brief moment. He quickly returned and told David that one of the nurses needed to see him for a moment regarding his insurance. After he left, Forbert turned to Lance with a somber look in his eyes._

_‘Look Lance…if there is something you need to tell me…about anyone that could be hurting you….you can tell me now,’ the doctor said carefully. ‘You don’t have to worry about your father…So feel free to speak freely.’_

_Lance knew what Forbert was implying and found himself quickly growing angry. The past three years that he had spent with David and Carolyn had been the happiest ones of his entire existence. In Lance’s eyes, his parents were the kindest, smartest, most loving people on the face of the earth. He knew that they would do anything for him, and thus he had become completely and utterly loyal and devoted to them._

_And whenever anyone made these kinds of accusations toward his parents due to his scars, Lance was swiftly filled with near-instinctive anger._

_‘My dad never hurt me…he loves me,’ Lance said through gritted teeth._

_‘Lance you don’t have to be afraid,’ Forbert said, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘If he is…’_

_‘No!’ Lance nearly shouted at him while yanking himself away from the doctor’s touch. ‘Mom and Dad love me, and I love them….Andrew…he did that to me…’_

_‘Andrew?’ the doctor questioned._

_Just then David walked back into the room._

_‘What’s going on?’ he said. Lance jumped off the examination table and ran over to his father’s outstretched arms. Seeing how agitated Lance was while he held him, David narrowed his eyes at the physician._

_‘What have you been saying to my son?’ he growled._

* * *

 

Back in the present, Sweets blinked his eyes open and shoved his blankets aside. His fever had spiked back up, making him uncomfortable under all that bedding.

He thought back to the memory that he had been dreaming about. It had turned out that Forbert had not been as through as he needed to be in checking Sweets’ medical history before seeing him. It had taken a long discussion with two of the nurses and the head physician of the clinic before everything was cleared up. Eventually it was decided that Lance would see a different doctor who was more familiar with the Sweets’ situation until Colinablanca returned to work.

Unfortunately, it was far from the last time that Sweets had to deal with that sort of incident. As a result, the psychologist had been reluctant to find a new general practitioner to replace the one he had been seeing for years in his hometown.

That reluctance was proving to be just as strong now, as Sweets re-thought his plans for tomorrow.

‘ _I’ll just call in sick tomorrow and sleep in,’_ he reasoned. ‘ _It’s just the flu…It will clear up in a day or two….There’s no need for me to go through all the fuss of seeing a doctor who’s just going to tell me to stay home and rest anyway.’_

Decision made, Sweets made a mental note to call his secretary tomorrow first thing in the morning and let her know that he wasn’t coming in. He then spent the rest of the night wrestling with fevered dreams when he wasn’t shivering or coughing nonstop.

‘ _I just need some sleep is all’_ he told himself over and over. ‘ _Just some sleep…’_


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Special Agent Seeley Booth walked down the corridors of the FBI’s Hoover Building with purpose. After reading through Sweets’ profile yesterday evening and comparing it to his own notes on the case, the agent was able to concentrate his focus to one or two leads that looked promising. In fact, they were so promising, Booth arranged for some backup agents to be available on demand in case he needed them later.

Booth decided to check on Sweets before heading out for the day. He didn’t have a chance to see him after picking up the file from him the day before, and he wanted to make sure that the psychologist had managed to make an appointment to see the doctor.

He walked over to see Sweets’ secretary, Becky, busy typing away at her computer.

“Good morning, Becky,” Booth grinned. “How are you today?”

“I’m well. Thank you, Agent Booth,” the secretary smiled. Ever since becoming Doctor Sweets’ secretary, Becky had swiftly become accustomed to seeing Booth visit Sweets’ office on a regular basis. These days she rarely bothered to stop him from heading straight into the psychologist’s office since she could sense the close professional and interpersonal bond the agent seemed to share with Sweets.

“Were you able to transfer those medical files to the doctor’s office like I asked?” Booth questioned. Becky sighed in response.

“Well I tried to, but my computer has been having issues all day,” she replied. “I think I was finally able to get an electronic copy sent, but I’ll probably mail them a hard copy just in case.”

“Is that the file?” Booth said, pointing at a folder that was near the edge of her desk.

“Yes.”

“I could drop it off for you,” Booth offered. “I was thinking of running Sweets by there anyway.”

“Oh he’s not here today, Agent Booth,” the secretary said. “He left a message on my machine this morning saying that he wouldn’t be in. He sounded awful.”

Booth was a little disappointed to hear this since he was hoping to not only look in on Sweets but go over a couple of last-minute things in relation to the profile that he had given him. But the agent knew that Sweets needed the rest.

“Here, why don’t I take it anyway,” Booth said. “I’ll probably be dropping by Sweets’ place anyway, and I can give it to him to give to the doctor at some point.”

“Sounds good,” Becky said, handing him the file. “I hope Doctor Sweets is feeling better soon.”

As he walked off, the agent made the decision to see Sweets later that day and perhaps use the files as an excuse to drive the psychologist to the doctor if he needed it.

Booth then moved on to focusing on the case at hand and put his worries about Sweets aside for a while.

* * *

 

Despite his best efforts, however, Sweets was getting very little in the way of rest. He had just spent over two hours sitting by the toilet, waiting for his spells of vomiting and dry heaves to stop. When he wasn’t leaning over the bowl, he was lying on the floor. Sometimes the cool tiles were a soothing relief against his fevered cheek, but other times his teeth were almost chattering from the draft that was rising up from the floor.

Once that crisis ended, Sweets dragged himself back to bed, burying himself under the covers. He eventually became thirsty and had thought about going for a glass of water, but he had become too weak to navigate that kind of a distance. Instead, he tossed and turned as best he could; only stopping so he could struggle through another round of coughing and gagging.

Sweets began to wonder if he should have gone to see Booth’s doctor after all. But he also figured that it was a moot point now because there was no way that he would be able to get there on his own anyway.

* * *

 

By early afternoon, Booth felt like celebrating. His leads turned out to be good ones and with the assistance of a couple of agents, he was able to arrest all of the robbers with little trouble. Even the resulting paperwork seemed to breeze by and now the agent was left with the rest of the day free.

He ended up calling Brennan and was pleased to find out that she had nothing more pressing than filling out some paperwork in relation to some bones she had identified from Limbo. It had taken some prodding, but Booth was eventually able to convince her to take some time off too so the two of them could get dinner and maybe watch a movie or something.

As he left his office for the day, Booth was struck with the urge to thank Sweets for his help on the case, but immediately remembered that the psychologist wasn’t in that day. Booth frowned when he realized that he hadn’t heard from Sweets at all and that it was probably too late to accompany him to the doctor’s office. He decided to swing by Sweets’ apartment so that he could see how the therapist was doing.

While walking to his SUV, Booth pulled out his cell phone and hit his speed dial.

“It’s me, Bones. Before we head out, I wanted to stop by Sweets’ place,” he said. “No…nothing major. I just wanted to check on him….I’ll explain after I pick you up.”

* * *

 

A few minutes later Booth and Brennan drove over to the apartment complex where Sweets lived and parked the car in the visitor’s lot. Soon the two of them were riding the elevator toward the floor that the psychologist lived on.

“Do you that we should disturb him?” Brennan asked. “Based on what you told me, Sweets probably needs as much rest as possible.”

“We’re not going to disturb him,” Booth replied. “We’re just going to stop by for a few minutes so that we can find out what the doctor said. Then he can go back to sleep or to watching Star Wars movies on the couch or whatever it is he’s doing to relax.”

When they reached Sweets’ door, Booth rapped the wood with the edge of his knuckles.

“Hey Sweets….Sweets open up,” Booth bellowed. They waited for a minute or two before the agent tried again.

“Come on, Sweets. Open the door,” he said. “Bones and I want to see how you’re doing.”

“Perhaps Doctor Sweets is out with an appointment with the physician you suggested,” Brennan said.

“No, I saw his car parked over in the resident’s lot. So I’m pretty sure he’s here,” the agent frowned. Booth reached into his pocket and fished out a lock-picking tool.

“What, so now you’re going to break in?” Brennan asked, incredulous.

“It’s not breaking in,” Booth insisted. “We’re just checking to see if Sweets is ok. It’s not like we’re here to steal from him or something.”

After a couple clicks, Booth was able to open the door and they both stepped inside.

“Sweets? Sweets, are you all right?” the agent called out as they walked around the front room area. The faint sound of coughing and moaning drew Booth and Brennan toward the bedroom. Once there, they glanced at each other briefly before cautiously opening the door so they could look inside. What they saw startled both of them.

Sprawled out on the bed was Sweets. Even though he was mostly covered by several blankets, the psychologist appeared to be shivering violently. Beads of sweat were visible on his brow, and his hair had been matted down to his skull. Booth and Brennan could hear how labored his breathing was from the doorway. Sweets didn’t even seem aware that the two of them were standing there.

“Sweets,” Booth breathed moving swiftly toward the bed. Once there, he clasped the therapist’s shoulder, causing Sweets to turn glazed eyes toward him.

“Booth?” Sweets asked, clearly confused. The agent patted his shoulder a couple times as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah pal, it’s me,” Booth said quietly.

“What…what are you doing here?” Sweets said as he tried to prop himself up on one elbow.

“Checking up on you,” Booth said, pushing Sweets to lie back down. “What did the doctor say about all this?”  

Despite the psychologist’s flushed cheeks, Booth could detect a blush forming on Sweets’ face.

“I…I didn’t…” Sweets stammered out.

“Well you’re going now,” Booth scowled, rising to his feet. He pulled out his cell phone and walked out of the room to make a call.

Brennan walked over to the nearby bathroom and after searching through the medicine cabinet, she came back with a thermometer in her hand.

“Doctor Brennan…I…” Sweets gasped.

“You should lay still, Doctor Sweets,” the anthropologist said as she said down on the bed and placed the thermometer in his mouth. “I know that Booth likes to rely on subjective methods to gauge illness, but it’s better to use more objective means to measure such things.”

Sweets found that he didn’t have the strength to argue, so he laid back against his pillow and did his best to keep his mouth closed, even when hit with the urge to cough. As he lay there, he could hear Booth outside the room talking on his phone, but Sweets couldn’t make out what the agent was saying.  He began to shake with cold again and was relieved when Brennan tucked the blankets around his shoulders. After a minute more, Booth walked back into the bedroom, and Brennan pulled the thermometer out of his mouth.

“Ok, I was able to convince my doctor to see you today, if we can get you there in the next half hour,” Booth announced.

“I think that would be wise,” Brennan said as she studied the thermometer. “Doctor Sweets has a temperature of 104 degrees.”

“104?” Booth gulped. “That’s serious.” He began to worry about how sick Sweets really was.

“Yes, it is,” the anthropologist nodded. “We should get him medical treatment as soon as possible.”

Looking back at the bed, Booth frowned again. It was obvious that Sweets needed to see someone, but the agent was sure that getting him there was not going to be an easy chore. He walked over to the closet and found a pair of jeans and a warm-looking navy sweater. He then moved to sit on the side of the bed opposite from Brennan.

“Come on, Sweets. You need to get up,” Booth said gently, pulling the blankets away.

“No please,” the psychologist moaned as he clawed at the retreating blankets. Booth yanked the bedding away, and Sweets, clad in a tee-shirt and boxers curled into a near fetal position.

“I know you don’t want to get up, but you have to, ok?” Booth said. “Bones and I will take you to the doctor, but you need to get up and get dressed first.”

Sweets closed his eyes and began coughing again. At one point, the coughing grew so vigorous; Booth and Brennan were concerned that the psychologist couldn’t breathe. Booth even tried slapping Sweets’ back a couple times in an attempt to dislodge whatever it was that was blocking his airways.

“Booth I don’t know if that will work,” Brennan stated.

But Booth ignored her and instead pulled out a handkerchief and placed it over Sweets’ mouth. Just then the psychologist coughed up some mucous and after gagging for a moment, was finally able to stop and gasp for air. Booth shoved the handkerchief into Sweets’ hand. If he had been disgusted by what just happened, he gave no sign of it. After allowing Sweets to rest for a moment, Booth helped him into a sitting position and handed him the clothes.

“Think you can get dressed now?” the agent asked him. Sweets nodded weakly, and both Brennan and Booth left the room so that he could change.

“As soon as he’s ready, we’re going to have to help him to the car, because I don’t see him making it on his own,” Booth said.

“I agree,” the anthropologist responded.

The two of them waited for a couple minutes more and then Booth went back to the bedroom to fetch Sweets. Walking in, Booth found that the therapist had gotten dressed, but now he had fallen asleep while still sitting up. Booth could see shadows forming under Sweets’ eyes thus he hated to wake him up. But he knew that he needed to.

“Come on Sweets. Wake up,” Booth said, nudging him. The psychologist’s eyes flew open, and he blinked at Booth in surprise.

“Booth? What are you doing here?” Sweets mumbled.

Booth felt himself becoming uneasy; he did not like how disoriented Sweets was acting and was even more determined to get him help.

“I’m taking you to the doctor,” the agent said as he helped Sweets to his feet. But once there, the psychologist tried to wiggle away.

“No, I don’t want to go,” he whined. “I don’t want them to see…”

As if catching himself, Sweets abruptly stopped in mid-sentence.

“See what? What don’t you want them to see?” Booth inquired. But Sweets just shook his head.

“I can’t go,” he warbled, his legs beginning to crumple under him. Booth hauled him back upright as Brennan came back into the room.

“Booth, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t know. He just got upset all the sudden,” Booth responded. As Sweets slumped against him, Booth could feel the heat radiating from Sweets’ forehead. Unfortunately, he could also see that the psychologist’s eyes were watering up.

“Fevers can cause a person’s mental processes to become disorganized,” Brennan said. “I think Doctor Sweets may experiencing some irrational fear in relation to his illness…It’s a common anxiety across various societies.”

“So what do we do?” Booth said.

Brennan paused while she thought about it. She suddenly remembered how Booth found comfort in her accompanying him to the operating room when he had his brain surgery. Inspired by this memory, the anthropologist walked over and began to help Booth hold Sweets upright.

“Doctor Sweets, you have nothing to worry about,” she said in a surprisingly soft voice. “Booth and I will stay with you during your examination.”

“We will?” Booth asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Brennan insisted as she looked over at Booth. “Anthropological studies in many tribal societies have shown that successful treatment of illness often relied not only on the skill of the medicine man but on the involvement of the afflicted person’s family in their treatment. In this situation, we will have to act as a sort of surrogate family for Sweets since he lacks actual family to assist him.”

“You…you’re staying?” Sweets slurred as his head lolled to the side.

Booth shook his head in response. While it was true that he sometimes found Sweets nosy, awkward and irritating, the fact remained that he had grown very fond of the psychologist and was deeply grateful for his assistance, loyalty, and friendship.

And truthfully, Booth knew that he’d be willing to do whatever it took to make sure that Sweets would be all right.

“Tired,” Sweets mumbled as he started to slump downward again. Both Booth and Brennan immediately moved to prop him back up.

“Come on, Sweets,” Booth said as he pulled him toward the door. “Bones and I are going to take care of you, ok?”

Sweets hesitated for a moment, but then he finally calmed down and began to cooperate.

“Ok,” he said as he pushed his feet into a pair of shoes by the door. He then let his head droop down to rest on Booth’s shoulder.

Booth sighed again inwardly. He had a feeling that this was going to be a long day. 


	3. Chapter 3

After they managed to drape a jacket over his shoulders, Brennan and Booth maneuvered Sweets out of his apartment and over to Booth’s SUV. It took some doing, but soon the psychologist was settled in the backseat, and the three of them were speeding along the road.

“You comfortable back there, Sweets?” Booth asked as he glanced back at the therapist. Sweets hacked a few times before answering.

“Cold,” he muttered, pulling the jacket tighter around his shoulders. Booth blinked in surprise at that; while it was an autumn day, it was unseasonably warm.

“Maybe we should have taken a blanket for him,” Brennan said. “People with fevers are often easily chilled. That coat might not be enough for him.” Booth just shook his head as he watched Sweets begin to shiver.

“Ok I’ll fix it for you,” the agent said, turning his head toward Sweets for a moment. Booth turned on the car’s heaters to full blast and pointed all the vents toward the psychologist.

“Is that better?” Booth asked over the roar of the vents. Sweets nodded and went back to coughing into the handkerchief that Booth had given him.

“I wonder why Doctor Sweets resisted seeking medical treatment before now,” Brennan mused. “Despite his dedication to a soft science, he is a highly intelligent and educated person, who should know the importance of receiving proper care.”

Booth rubbed his eyes. He thought back to Sweets’ reaction when he told him that he’d be taking him to the doctor and became even more concerned. Truthfully, the agent could understand being somewhat reluctant to see a physician for minor things. After all, there were times where Booth could remember being pushed to go himself. But Booth was worried at how adamant the psychologist was to avoid going to the doctor.

 _‘There’s something there,’_ Booth thought. _‘Something more than just not caring for being treated.’_ The agent found himself contemplating all sorts of unpleasant scenarios as to why Sweets would react the way he did.

“The consequences for ignoring a condition like this can be quite severe,” Brennan continued.

“Oh come on, Bones,” Booth replied. “I mean, yeah, Sweets is pretty miserable, but how bad is the flu, really?”

“While the flu itself might not be an issue with someone who is young and overall healthy like Sweets, there are many diseases and infections which present similar symptoms to the flu,” Brennan answered. “And they can be very serious.”

“Like what?” Booth asked suddenly tense.

“Well…tuberculosis….some lymphomas…” Brennan said.

“Lymphomas…that’s cancer,” Booth interrupted. “Sweets doesn’t have that.” Even as he said that, the agent wasn’t sure if he said that because he believed it or because he didn’t want to consider the alternative.

“There’s Legionnaire’s Disease…” Brennan added.

“Is that bad?” Booth gulped.

“Left untreated, it can lead to respiratory failure and eventual death,” the anthropologist said.

“Let’s….let’s just focus on getting Sweets to the doctor, ok?” Booth said, halting this line of conversation.

“Ok, Booth,” Brennan said, turning to look out the window.

Booth continued to let his eyes flicker back toward his rear-view mirror so he could keep an eye on Sweets. The psychologist was shivering again even though he appeared to be asleep. Booth pushed down on the accelerator a little more, fueled by the urge to get to his destination even quicker. Up to this point, Booth had been convinced that Sweets was merely suffering from a really bad case of the flu, but now he couldn’t help but face the fact that it could be something far worse.

The agent tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his expression grim.

‘ _It’s fine…Sweets is going to be fine,’_ he told himself. ‘ _Bones and I will take care of him…no matter what the doctor says.’_

* * *

 

Once they arrived Booth and Brennan worked to get a very disoriented Sweets into the building and signed in at the front desk. The three of them then settled into some chairs to wait. Sweets sat in-between them, and had once again managed to fall asleep with his head on Booth’s shoulder. Brennan held up a clipboard that the nurse had given her which had some forms attached to it.

“Booth, we need to wake Sweets up,” she said. “They need these forms about his medical history filled out.”

“Got that covered,” Booth said. He carefully reached into his jacket and pulled out the medical files that he had taken from Sweets’ secretary. “This should have everything you need in it.”

“You shouldn’t have this,” Brennan frowned, as she took the file from the agent’s hand.

“Look, I had no intention on reading through it and prying,” Booth said. “I was just going to give it to the nurses anyway…Besides, I’m sure Sweets would rather have us handle this right now.”

Brennan rolled her eyes and began flipping through the file while filling out the forms accordingly. She did her best to not read more than what was necessary to complete the paperwork, but she couldn’t help but notice the large number of childhood injuries Sweets had suffered in early childhood.

She thought back to the day that she had seen Sweets’ scars by accident. Even though she had said nothing at the time, she found it impossible to put the image and the feelings it produced out of her mind. In some ways, she had been relieved that Wyatt chose to go over the implications with her and Booth. Brennan sighed while she contemplated the fact that, over the last couple of years, it had become increasingly hard for her to truly compartmentalize in relation to those closest to her.

She soon finished writing everything in and closed the files.

“You should give those to the desk,” Brennan said.

“I would but I’m kind of tied up at the moment,” Booth said while indicating Sweets’ head on his shoulder. As if on cue, Sweets opened his eyes and lifted his head to look around. Booth took the opportunity to grab the clipboard and the files and walk over to the nurses.

“Doctor Brennan…where am I?” Sweets asked timidly.

“You’re at the office where Booth’s doctor works,” Brennan informed him. “Your fever is making it difficult for you to think clearly.”

“Oh,” the psychologist nodded before pitching into another coughing jag. After it was over, Sweets gripped at his chest and moaned.

“Sweets, are you in pain?” Brennan asked as she put an arm around him.

“My chest,” he mumbled. “Hurts…can’t breathe…”

“Actually, if you couldn’t breathe, we wouldn’t be able to have this conversation,” the anthropologist said. “So you shouldn’t concern yourself over symptoms you don’t have yet.”

Despite his misery, Sweets couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Thank you, Doctor Brennan,” he said quietly. Sweets slumped down and dozed off. Brennan could hear Sweets’ breathing become even more strained, and she worried that his assertions of not being able to breathe could soon become a reality.

She took one of his hands into hers and held it tightly. Brennan knew that it would have no real medical benefit, but she hoped that the touch would serve as a reminder to Sweets’ in his semi-delirious state that he wasn’t alone.

“They’re ready for him,” Booth said as he walked back over. Brennan nodded and rose to her feet, but Sweets remained still.

“Time to get up, Sweets,” Booth said, nudging his shoulder. The psychologist showed no response other than his body flopping forward. Booth knelt down in front of him.

“Sweets? Hey Sweets…wake up,” Booth said, shaking Sweets’ shoulders gently. He then lifted the therapist’s head and tried patting his cheeks.

“Come on, Sweets,” Booth said. “Wake up now.” Brennan reached over so that she could take Sweets’ pulse while Booth was becoming even more agitated.

“Sweets…you need to get up,” the agent said, shaking Sweets’ shoulders with greater vigor.”Sweets!”

“Booth…stop shaking me,” Sweets murmured, starting to stir. Booth let out a giant sigh of relief.

“Ok don’t you dare do that again,” Booth said as he helped the psychologist to his feet.

“Do what?” Sweets asked, quizzical.

“Just…don’t,” the agent replied. “We’re going to see the doctor now.”

* * *

 

Booth and Brennan helped Sweets back to an examination room and settled in to wait: Booth pacing about, Brennan sitting in a chair and Sweets lying down on the examination table.

“Mr. Sweets will need to change into this hospital gown,” the nurse, who had led them back there, said.

“It’s Doctor Sweets,” Brennan corrected her. “It’s on his chart.”

“Sorry,” the nurse said her tone brittle. “He seems a little too young to be a doctor of any sort.”

“A person’s age often has little to do with their potential for academic or professional achievement,” Brennan said. “For example, I’m sure that I was finishing up my second degree before you were able to complete nursing school.”

“The doctor will be here in a minute or two,” the nurse said, her smile appearing increasingly strained. She then shut the door behind her hard enough to make it slam.

“What was that?” Sweets asked, groggy.

“Nothing. Go ahead and change,” Booth said as he handed him the gown. He then began to guide Brennan toward the door.

“You know, this is my doctor’s office,” Booth said. “I still have to come here after today.”

“She was very rude to refuse to address Sweets properly,” Brennan protested. “I didn’t care for her demeanor at all.”

“Yeah…I know…I didn’t care for it either,” Booth nodded. “But that’s not what’s important right now.” He motioned over toward Sweets, and Brennan nodded in agreement. Booth opened the door to leave.

“We’ll go so you can change, but we’ll be back in a minute,” Booth told Sweets. Sweets struggled to sit up, but began to cough again. He was able to get into a sitting position, but wasn’t able to do much else.

Booth paused, not wanting to leave the psychologist in this condition. As the spell passed, Sweets groaned and tried to pull his sweater off. It was clear, however, that he was becoming too weak to do it without difficulty.

“All right,” Booth said walking back over. He then helped Sweets yank his sweater off. The psychologist was instantly mortified and scrambled to cover himself.

He wasn’t able to do it fast enough though to stop Booth from seeing the scars that riddled Sweets’ shoulders. Booth ground his jaw, but remained silent. Brennan had told him about them a while ago, and the agent finally saw them when Sweets had been forced to expose them in front of a psychotic serial bomber while trying to diffuse a hostage situation. Sensing how difficult it was for Sweets to talk about his past, Booth made sure to show no outward sign of emotion whenever he saw them.

But that didn’t stop Booth from feeling the stirrings of rage at the person who had done this to Sweets.  

Booth was jarred back to the present as he watched Sweets continued to clumsily try to cover himself. Brennan walked back over and carefully helped the psychologist drape the gown correctly.

“Sweets, you have nothing to be concerned about,” Brennan assured him. “Booth and I have seen your back before. There is no need to be self-conscious about it.”

The moment she said this, the wheels began to turn in Booth’s head, and when he thought back to earlier in Sweets’ apartment, things began to click.

‘ _No, I don’t want him to see…’_

The agent swallowed hard as he watched Brennan assist Sweets in removing his pants and guided him to lie back down. The first time Booth had gone to see this doctor; there had been an uncomfortable moment where he had to go over a couple of the old injuries he had received during his time as an Army Ranger. To his relief, the doctor had been very understanding and did not make him go into any more detail than what was clinically necessary.

But Booth knew that not all doctors were like that, and he was certain that Sweets had had some bad experiences with people who were shocked at the sight of his scars and who tried to pry into his past, a past that held just as much if not more pain than Booth’s own.

‘ _Bones and I might have seen it, but no one here has,’_ he thought to himself. ‘ _And right now, Sweets shouldn’t have to worry about that.’_

Just then Booth heard footsteps coming toward the door that he was sure belonged to the doctor. The agent swiftly walked out of the room so he could intercept him.

While they waited, Brennan went back to holding Sweets’ hand, a tactile reminder of her presence. A couple moments later Booth came back in with an older man with graying temples and a studious but kind expression.

“Hello, Doctor Sweets, Doctor Brennan. My name is Doctor Anthony Barrons,” the man said. He shook Brennan’s hand, and Booth helped Sweets up so he could also shake his as well. 

“I understand that you’ve been suffering from a cough and fever,” Barrons continued, after glancing some more through Sweets’ medical files.

“Doctor Sweets has severe congestion along with chills, mental confusion and occasional chest pain,” Brennan added.

“Thank you. That was thorough list,” Barrons smiled. “It makes my job a lot easier to have as much knowledge about the patient as possible.”

The doctor proceeded to check Sweets’ vitals and eventually moved to stand behind the psychologist. He pulled out a stethoscope and opened Sweets’ gown slightly.

“I’ll need you to take some deep breaths,” Barrons instructed Sweets. “I know that will be difficult for you, but just do the best you can.”

Sweets nodded and began to breathe, grateful that he couldn’t sense any strong reaction from the doctor. As he moved the stethoscope along and listened, Barrons had a very slight flicker of concern in his eyes, but showed no other sign of emotion. The conversation he had had with Booth before coming in convinced him of the need for discretion.

Breathing continued to be difficult for Sweets and he was soon back to coughing and gagging. Booth stood by close with the handkerchief just in case.  After he was finished, Barrons wrote some things down on a paper.

“Doctor Sweets will need to go downstairs for some additional tests,” Barrons said.

“Wait, it’s not just the flu?” Booth said, worry filling his voice.

“No…I’m afraid that it’s more serious than that,” the doctor frowned. Booth let Sweets lean against him while Brennan resumed her hold on the psychologist’s hand. Neither gesture was lost on Barrons.

“You’re more than welcome to stay with him while we run these tests, if you would like,” he assured them. “We’re not doing anything too invasive.”

“Yes, we would prefer that,” Brennan answered.

“Yeah, thanks doc,” Booth said, vaguely uncomfortable.

“Good, I’ll let the nurse know that you’ll be accompanying him,” Barrons smiled as he walked out. “She’ll be bringing in a gurney so Doctor Sweets can relax while we transport him around. And don’t worry; we’ll take good care of him.”

After he left, Sweets started to slide back down onto the table so he could lie down again.

“Booth…” he coughed. “Am I…Am I…?”

“No, look, you heard what the doctor said,” Booth interrupted. “They’ll figure out what’s wrong with you, and you’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Mmm,” Sweets mumbled as he closed his eyes. Booth looked over at Brennan, and he could tell that she was thinking the same thing he was.

While it was true that things were more serious than they thought, neither of them were going to leave Sweets’ side until they knew for sure that he would be all right.

 


	4. Chapter 4

After a couple moments of waiting, a nurse appeared with a gurney, and Booth and Brennan helped Sweets move over to it. Booth made sure to grab Sweets’ clothes while Brennan covered the psychologist with a blanket. Everyone was silent as the nurse guided them along the hallways, the only sound being the wheezing coming from the figure on the gurney.

Soon they arrived to an X-ray room, and the nurse paused at the doorway.

“I will need the two of you to wait here for this part,” she said, indicating a set of chairs near the door. “But as soon as we’re done, you can go with him for the rest of the tests in the laboratory down the hall.”

The two of them watched the nurse wheel Sweets into the room and then sat down next to each other to wait. The silence continued for a few more moments until Booth began to fidget. Eventually, he got up and paced in front of Brennan.

“What’s taking them so long?” he grumbled.

“It’s takes a while to get all the X-rays needed for a thorough examination,” Brennan explained. “I’m sure they will be done soon.” Booth stopped to lean against a wall.

“I should have made him see someone yesterday,” he mumbled, staring at the floor. “I knew he was sick then. But I didn’t think that….”

“You’re not a doctor Booth,” the anthropologist countered. “There’s no way you could have known how serious Sweets’ illness was. Besides, it was Sweets’ decision to not seek treatment, not yours.”

“Yeah, I know,” Booth sighed as he sat back down next to her. “But…it’s not always that simple, Bones.”

“I’m not sure why that is,” Brennan wondered. “If you are sick, you seek treatment.” The agent ran a hand over his face and looked back down at the floor.

“I’m sure Sweets knew that he should see someone,” he said. “But knowing something isn’t always the same as being able to act on it….When…when you carry around something inside…something you’d like to escape from…like a difficult past…Sometimes you find that you’re willing to do anything to free yourself from it, even if it’s only for a little while…Even if it involves avoiding things that you really shouldn’t avoid facing.”

“Are we still talking about Sweets?” Brennan asked.

“The point is, Bones is that Sweets didn’t want to see a doctor because he didn’t want to have to bring up his medical history…and everything that comes with it,” Booth continued, ignoring her. “And I should have seen that before now.”

“I think I understand,” she replied. “But I also think that you are only partially correct.” Booth tilted his head at her, questioning.

“In any family unit, there are various roles that are taken on by each member in order to ensure the optimal survival of said unit,” Brennan added. “One thing that has been observed across societies is that while one person may be designated as a leader or protector of a group, other members often have to step in and assist the people in these roles.” Brennan leaned closer to the agent.

“While it’s true that you have the role of the strong alpha male in our group, we each have a responsibility to support and care for each other,” she said. “So don’t feel that you have to bear this burden alone.”

“Thanks Bones,” Booth smiled.

“You’re welcome,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “And I’m sure Sweets thanks you as well.”

After a few more minutes, the nurse came back out with Sweets.

“We need to stop for some blood tests next,” she informed Booth and Brennan as they got up from their chairs. “We’ll be done after that.”

The four of them went to the lab, and fortunately, there was not much of a wait to see a technician. Soon, they were back to walking along the corridors after an overly perky nurse had taken and tagged three small vials of Sweets’ blood.

“We’ll go ahead and put him in one of these rooms here so he can rest in a bed while we wait for the results,” the nurse said, pointing to a series of rooms down a side hallway. “We should know something in a couple of hours.”

The four of them ended up in a room with a couple of beds, both empty. Sweets managed to shuffle over to one of the beds and immediately laid down. The nurse took his temperature one last time and wrote something down on a chart. She then left, and Booth and Brennan settled in again into a set of chairs and watched the psychologist try to sleep.

“Booth,” Sweets murmured, breaking the silence.

“What is it, Sweets?” the agent said as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I…I’m sorry,” Sweets said. “I should have come here yesterday, and I didn’t. Now you and Doctor Brennan are having to…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Booth assured him. Brennan got up and pulled a couple of sheets off the empty bed next to Sweets and carefully placed them onto the therapist.

“What Booth means is that we’re sure that you would do the same for us, if we were sick,” she said, sitting on the other side of the bed. “So you shouldn’t feel like you owe us any sort of debt.”

“Speak for yourself, Bones,” Booth smirked. “I’m expecting at least a week of free breakfasts after all this.” Sweets gave a weak chuckle.

“Done,” he mumbled while turning onto his side. The second he stopped moving, Sweets passed out again. Booth frowned and placed the blankets more securely around the psychologist. Sweets had become extremely weak and lethargic during the time since he first saw him that day and that fueled Booth’s worries that he could be critically ill.

Minutes stretched to what seemed like hours, but eventually Barrons walked into the room, holding up a file while looking through it. Booth reached over and nudged Sweets hard to wake him up. The psychologist blinked in surprise and slowly scooted himself upright in the bed.

“Well I have the results back,” the doctor said cautiously, looking around the room. His head having had a chance to clear after some sleep, Sweets was able to guess the reason for the doctor’s pause in giving the results.

“It’s all right,” he coughed. “I don’t mind if Agent Booth and Doctor Brennan hear the prognosis.

“Very well then,” Barrons nodded. “Well Doctor Sweets, I’m afraid that you’ve been stricken with an illness you’ve been acquainted with before: pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia?” Sweets groaned, collapsing back onto the bed. “But I haven’t had that since I was a kid.”

“Nevertheless, it’s what you have now,” the doctor said. “And it’s a nasty version of it too…But fortunately for you, it’s a bacterial strain, so I can prescribe you an antibiotic to help clear it up. Barring any complications, you should be over it in about a week.”

“Are you sure doctor?” Booth asked, still tense. “I mean, you’re sure he doesn’t have Foreign Legion’s Disease or anything like that?”

“Legionnaire’s Disease, Booth,” Brennan corrected.

“No, nothing like that,” Barrons assured him. “Just a severe case of pneumonia…I’m sure he’ll be able to leave the hospital in a couple of days.”

“Why are you admitting him?” Brennan asked. “I thought the prognosis wasn’t serious.”

“It’s not. This is more of a recommendation,” Barrons said, turning toward Sweets. “There is the slight chance that your fever could spike up again or that your breathing could become further impaired. It would be best if you were monitored for the first couple of days, and since you indicated that you live alone, Doctor Sweets, I would like you to remain here.”

“I understand,” Sweets said somber. The truth was he did not want to stay, but he didn’t see that he had any other choice.

Booth had watched Sweets’ face fall as he resigned himself to his fate. Something about the notion of Sweets being confined to a hospital bed, alone in an impersonal space, did not sit well with him at all.

“Hey, uh…Doctor, if he wasn’t alone, would he have to stay here?” Booth said.

“Well…I suppose not,” Barrons mused. “If someone were willing to stay with him and monitor his temperature and vitals, I would not be opposed to sending him home….But it couldn’t be for just a couple hours at a time. Someone would have to stay with him day and night for the first couple of days.”

“All right then,” the agent said, straightening his posture. “I could have him stay with me. Would that be all right?”

“Booth…you don’t have to…” Sweets started. But he was cut off with a series of coughs.

“He’s right Booth,” Brennan said. “He shouldn’t stay with you.”

“Bones…it’s not that big of a….”

“He should stay with me,” she interrupted. “I have much more room in my apartment than you do in yours….Plenty of space for Doctor Sweets….and you if you decide to stay as well.”

“Doctor Brennan, I…I couldn’t…” the psychologist rasped.

“Anthropologically speaking Sweets, it is custom that an afflicted person is cared for by people who are better attuned to him, like a family unit for example,” Brennan continued. “Besides, as an intelligent, empirical observer, I could spot changes in your condition fast enough to act expediently…And Booth has extensive experience in caring for people when they are sick.”

“I do?” Booth asked.

“Yes,” she responded. “In the past, you’ve mentioned taking care of Jared when you were younger, and you have more recent experience with Parker. And then there was that time when I had a cold and you stopped by my place to…”

“Yeah, great Bones,” Booth said, turning back toward Barrons. “So can he go home with us or not?”

“As long as Doctor Sweets is fine with the arrangement, I see no reason why I couldn’t release him into your care,” the doctor replied. “You would mainly have to monitor his vitals, make sure he’s taking his medication, and try to keep him as comfortable as possible while he rests.”

“We can do that,” Brennan said. “I’ll call Cam and ask for some time off. There are no pending cases at the Jeffersonian so it shouldn’t be difficult.”

“Yeah, there’s not much going on at the Bureau either,” the agent nodded. “I should be able to use a couple of my sick days….So how about it Sweets?”

Brennan and Booth looked back over at the bed and noticed that the psychologist’s eyes were bright with moisture, but that there was also a contented smile on his face.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, sinking back into the bed.

“Since you’re temperature has gone down since you’ve been here, I’ll go ahead and release you,” Barrons told him. “But I would ask that you schedule a follow up appointment with the desk so that I can see how you’re doing in a couple of weeks. I’ll make sure to leave the prescription you’ll need with them so that you can pick it up on the way out.”

“Thanks Doctor Barrons,” Booth said, solemn. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Agent Booth,” the physician grinned. “And I expect to see you in about three months for your annual checkup.” The agent nodded as he watched Barrons leave. He then turned back toward Brennan and Sweets and clasped his hands together.

“All right Sweets,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here and over to Bones’ place.”

* * *

 

Fortunately, all the rest Sweets had been able to get while in the doctor’s office gave him the strength to get dressed on his own and to make it back to the car with minimal assistance.  They made sure to stop by the desk to make the next appointment and get the prescription before heading off to the car.

Once Sweets got into the car, however, all his energy seemed to drain away, and he was back to dozing in the back seat when he wasn’t coughing. Booth stopped at a nearby pharmacy and picked up the medicine, and then sped off toward Brennan’s apartment.

“Ok, I’m going to drop you and Sweets off at your place,” Booth said. “But don’t worry, I’ll help you get him settled in before I take off.”

“Where will you be going?” Brennan inquired.

“I’m going to swing by Sweets’ place to get him some stuff for while he’s staying with you,” the agent answered. “Then I have a couple more errands I need to run, but I won’t be out long.”

Once they arrived at Brennan’s place, they found that Sweets was more resistant to move by this point, but working together, Brennan and Booth were able to get him out of the car and into the apartment. They guided him to her guest room, and Sweets flopped onto the bed, falling asleep again instantly. After pulling off his jacket and shoes, they placed a quilt onto him, and left him alone to sleep for a while.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” Booth said, pocketing the keys that he had fished out of Sweets’ jacket. “Maybe you should try to get him to take one of those pills while I’m gone.”

“I will…See you later, Booth,” Brennan said. After the agent left, she pulled out her cell phone.

“Doctor Saroyan? It’s Doctor Brennan…I will not be able to come in for a couple days…No, not me….Not Booth either…Doctor Sweets is very ill, and he is staying with me for a little while….”

 


	5. Chapter 5

After her phone call to Cam, Brennan picked up a book and walked back into the guestroom. She sat down on a chair near the bed and began to read, mindful to glance back at Sweets occasionally for any signs of distress or waking. She tried to enjoy her book, which was an engaging tome on the latest advancements in bone dating, but soon found herself frequently distracted by the psychologist’s condition. Eventually, she gave up trying to concentrate on the book and sat it down so she could watch Sweets silently.

‘ _Doctor Sweets will be fine. Doctor Barrons said as much,’_ she thought to herself. ‘ _Why do I feel so concerned?’_

While mulling over that question, it suddenly occurred to the anthropologist that she wasn’t used to someone close to her being seriously ill. Booth, her family, her friends and co-workers at the Medico-Legal lab….they would be injured from time to time due to their involvement in criminal investigations, but beyond that the worst that any of them suffered was a bout of a mild flu or a stubborn cold.

‘ _It’s common for people to find discomfort in deviations from the norm,’_ she told herself. ‘ _Societies have traditionally devised elaborate methods to ensure that day-to-day life would continue in a similar pattern with little change. Perhaps Sweets’ illness is uncomfortable because I’m simply not accustomed to such events happening to those close to me.’_

Brennan stood back up and moved to stand closer to the bed.  She wasn’t sure when the therapist had become a part of her “family” or even how it could happen considering her disdain for psychology. But she knew that she couldn’t deny how she felt at seeing Sweets so miserable.

“Pssst, Bones.”

Brennan turned to see Booth standing in the doorway, motioning her to come over toward him. She looked down one last time at Sweets and then left the room with Booth, who had changed from his suit to more casual clothes. As she walked with him back to the front room, she saw some plastic bags and a couple of duffle bags.

“Booth…what is all….?”

“I swung by Sweets’ place to get him some stuff while he’s here, and then dropped by my apartment to grab a few things so that I could stay here and help out,” the agent responded. He picked up one duffle bag and quietly placed it just inside the guest room near the door before rejoining Brennan. He picked up the plastic bags and headed off to the kitchen.

“I also stopped by the grocery store and got all the ingredients to make chicken soup just the way my Pops always used to make it,” Booth said as he started to put things on the counter and in the refrigerator. “Believe me, chicken soup is just the thing to help Sweets get over this pneumonia.”

“There’s absolutely no evidence of that,” Brennan frowned. “Sweets will be cured with a combination of the antibiotics the doctor gave us and time. Nothing more.”

“Ah but there is evidence,” Booth countered. “Because whenever Pops made this for me or Jared, we would always start to feel better.”

“An anecdote is not evidence, Booth,” she said. “Your soup will probably not work any better than any of the other various folk remedies that were created over the centuries to deal with illness.”

“But they do work, Bones,” the agent said. “I’ve seen it work many times.”

“Mainly because there is the expectancy that it will work,” Brennan said. “Whether it’s elaborate rituals or harmless herbs, ancient societies found many methods to convince people that they were getting better. These practices can have a profound effect on how the body processes ailments.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in psychology,” Booth smirked.

“That’s not psychology,” Brennan said, making a face. “It’s individuals in a society responding physically to the beliefs they have been indoctrinated to follow. Besides, I have something better to give Sweets for a natural remedy.”

“Better than my chicken soup?”

“Yes, much better,” she said. The anthropologist went over to one of her cupboards and pulled out a small tin. She opened it, and Booth peered inside.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Chrysanthemum tea,” Brennan said. “The Chinese have used it for centuries to alleviate congestion, and recent medical studies have shown that the chemical compounds in it act to…”

“Look Bones, no offense to your tea, but chicken soup is the way to go here,” Booth said. “It’s natural, does all that stuff that you mentioned, and it will give him some much needed food. Because I’m pretty sure that he hasn’t eaten much in the last couple of days.”

“While I agree that Sweets should eat something, saying that my tea is not the right solution has no basis in medical fact,” Brennan replied.

“When you were a kid and you got a cold, did your parents give you tea made from flowers to help you get better?” Booth inquired.

“No, they used a relevant combination of cold medications,” she said. “While I was recovering, my mother would sometimes serve me bouillabaisse.”

“Bouillabaisse?” he said. “Which is….?”

“Soup made with fish and other seafood,” Brennan said, rolling her eyes.

“Ah ha! There. You see, Bones,” Booth said triumphantly. “Even your parents knew that soup is needed for this kind of thing. Granted they gave you something weird that no kid actually eats but….”

“Of course kids eat it,” Brennan protested. “It’s a classic French dish. Many French children have eaten it.”

“But we’re not in France,” Booth countered. “And I can guarantee you that the average household….”

“It was one of my mother’s favorite soups,” she said.

“Fine, yes,” Booth said. “But what I’m saying is that….”

A loud thump from the guestroom halted the conversation and sent Booth and Brennan rushing toward it. When they got there, they found Sweets lying on the floor. He tried to breathe, but could only make a fluid filled rattling sound. His lips had started to turn purple.

Booth immediately sat down on the floor and helped Sweets into a hunched sitting position. Once there, he started pounding on the psychologist’s back while Brennan knelt down beside them with Booth’s handkerchief.

“Come on, Sweets,” Booth said, urgency creeping into his voice. “You need to breathe….Come on.”

Seconds later the gasping turned to coughing and soon Sweets was able to hack up some more thick phlegm into the handkerchief that Brennan held near his mouth. He then collapsed against Booth, still struggling to take full breaths.

“I think we should take him back to the hospital,” Brennan said. Booth nodded in agreement, but Sweets shook his head.

“No please,” he wheezed. “Want to…stay here.”

“Sweets, you stopped breathing there,” Booth said. “You probably should….”

“No…I don’t…” Sweets said. He managed to grab Booth’s arm, and the agent was surprised at how strong his grip was.

“Please let me stay here,” the psychologist begged, his voice raspy. Booth looked into his eyes and hated the desperation he saw there.

“All right, Sweets. All right,” he relented. “You can stay here.”

“Booth, are you sure that we should….?”

“But if you have even one more fit that’s anything like that, I’m driving you to the emergency room myself,” Booth warned him. “Is that understood?”

“Understood,” Sweets said, finally loosening his grip. Booth patted his arm.

“Ok…I brought you some stuff from your place,” he said. “Let’s get you changed into different clothes and get you back into bed. Then Bones will make you some tea that will make you feel better.”

“And later Booth will make you some chicken soup,” Brennan smiled.

“Sounds good,” Sweets said, starting to relax.

Brennan nodded and left the room so she could start the kettle going while Booth sat Sweets up against the bed and went over to get his duffle bag.

* * *

 

A couple hours later Sweets was back to lying in bed, his head and shoulders elevated by some pillows. Now dressed in a tee shirt and a pair of lounge pants, the therapist was trying to sleep after his meal of tea and soup.

Next to the bed, Brennan and Booth sat in a pair of chairs while they watched him quietly. Beside them, a small tray table had an assortment of mostly empty paper cartons of Chinese food that Brennan had ordered for her and Booth to have for supper. The two of them got into a spirited conversation about the merits and the historical inaccuracies of some films from the 1930s, and Sweets fell asleep listening to them, a slight smile on his face.

After they finished eating, neither of them really wanted to leave Sweets alone, so they continued to sit with him. At one point Booth left briefly and returned with a cool, damp washcloth. He then proceeded to dab at the therapist’s forehead, wiping away beads of sweat.

“Booth, we should wake him up so we can check his temperature and give him another dose of medicine,” Brennan whispered.

“Are you sure?” Booth asked. “He’s sleeping so well right now. I hate to wake him. Maybe we should give him a few more minutes.”

“Booth, Doctor Brennan…”

The two of them looked over to the bed to see that Sweets had opened his eyes and was shivering again.

“We’re still here, Sweets,” Booth assured him, reaching over to pat his arm.

“So cold…” the psychologist said, his teeth beginning to chatter.

“Bones, have you got any more blankets in here?” the agent said.

“In the closet,” Brennan answered as she rose to her feet. “I’m going to get his medicine and a thermometer.”

Booth went over to the closet after she left and found a thick comforter which he wrapped tightly around Sweets. To his dismay, it didn’t seem to help the therapist. In fact, Sweets’ shaking was becoming more violent.

A few seconds later Brennan returned with a glass of water in one hand and the prescription bottle with the thermometer in the other. She sat the water and pills down and used the thermometer in Sweets’ ear so he wouldn’t have to constrict his breathing in anyway by keeping his mouth closed.

“102.8,” she said after a couple moments. “Not as high as it was this afternoon, but up from where it was a while ago.”

“What do you think we should do?” Booth asked.

“I talked to a nurse as we were leaving the hospital,” Brennan said. “She said that we should contact them if his temperature reaches 103 again. While it is close, I imagine that it would be best not to move him unless absolutely necessary.”

The anthropologist then shook at pill out of the bottle and walked over to the bed with it and the water.

“Here Sweets,” she said, handing him the pill. He took it with a trembling hand and put it in his mouth. Feeling that his hands were not steady enough to hold the glass, Brennan tilted it at his lips.

“Booth you should help him sit up,” Brennan said. “He could easily choke in his condition if the water doesn’t go straight down.”

“But Bones, what if he….?”

“Booth, please,” she interrupted.

“All right,” Booth mumbled. He sat down on the bed beside Sweets and slowly propped him up, sitting behind him so that he couldn’t fall backward. Sweets was then able to take some of the water. He was only able to sip a little bit at a time, but the therapist relished the refreshing liquid, and ended up finishing most of it. The moment he was finished, Sweets fell back against Booth and curled up to sleep that way.

“Hey….no….Now see this is what I was afraid of, Bones,” Booth grumbled.

“While primitive, sharing body heat is a good way to help someone who is suffering from chills,” Brennan mused. “Would you prefer if I traded places with you?”

“No I would not prefer that,” Booth retorted. He looked down and noticed that Sweets’ shivering had lessened as he started to fall asleep.

“Come on, Sweets. You can’t stay this way,” the agent said. “You need to lie back down.” Booth tried moving him, but Sweets was already in a deep sleep and was completely unresponsive.

“I’m sure he will wake up again in a little while,” Brennan said. “Why not let him stay that way for now? He appears to be far more comfortable.”

Booth let out another frustrated huff as he sank back against the headboard of the bed, Sweets still snuggled tight against him.

“Remember what I said about a week of free breakfasts at the Diner?” Booth asked as he stared at the ceiling.

“Yes,” Brennan nodded.

“Now it’s two weeks of breakfasts,” he replied. “And there’s no way I’m going to let Sweets get out of it.”

Resigned to his fate, Booth pulled the blankets up around the psychologist’s shoulders, tucking him in, and then he leaned back toward the wall. Brennan picked up her chair and moved to sit right next to him.

“Hey, Bones…do you…do you think I made the right call?” Booth murmured. “Letting him stay here? You think he’ll…that he’ll be all right?”

Brennan leaned toward him, surprised at the uncertainty in Booth’s voice.

“At first, I did question if it was prudent to have him stay,” she answered. “I thought that it might not have been best to let Sweets sway our decision since he was semi-delirious at the time. But then I came to realize the validity of your choice.”

“Validity?”  he asked.

“Your doctor wanted Sweets to rest, remain comfortable and to be closely monitored,” Brennan continued. “All of that would have been difficult if he was in a place where he felt alone and uncared for. In the end, you made the best decision.”

“Thanks Bones,” he grinned.

“I was merely stating a fact…but you’re welcome Booth,” she said warmly. She then brushed some damp locks of hair from Sweets’ forehead.

“I hope he gets better soon,” she whispered.

“Me too, Bones,” Booth responded without a hint of annoyance or flippancy as he rubbed Sweets’ shoulder. “Me too.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

During the night and continuing into the next day, Sweets rarely got more than an hour or two of sleep at a time, and even that was intermittent at best. Plus, his nausea returned from time to time making it so that he was only able to take in one or two small meals. As a result, the psychologist felt increasingly weak and tired which in turn caused him to become listless and somewhat cranky.

Still, Booth and Brennan insisted that Sweets try to rest as much as he could, thus he stayed in bed almost constantly. During one of his more prolonged naps, Sweets dreamt about another time when he had had pneumonia.

* * *

 

_It was when Lance was six years old and not yet adopted formally by his parents, David and Carolyn Sweets. He had moved in with them earlier that year, and Lance was still adjusting to the idea of having loving parents like them. By then it was November, and a few days ago, Lance had finally started calling David and Carolyn “Dad” and “Mom”. Then he got sick._

_The timing had frustrated Lance greatly. He was on vacation from school because of the Thanksgiving holiday and had only had about a day off before he started to feel ill. Lance had been looking forward to finding out what it was like to celebrate Thanksgiving with a real family. But now he would have to spend the holiday in bed instead._

_In sympathy, the Sweets decided to put off the feast that they had been planning so that they could focus their energy on helping Lance feel better. Despite their efforts though, they could tell that Lance was upset and anxious. Still, they persisted in trying to find ways to make him comfortable while he recovered._

_Early in the morning on Thanksgiving Day, Lance lay in his bed, scowling over his misfortune._

_‘_ Other kids get to have fun and a big meal on Thanksgiving _,’ he thought sourly. ‘_ But I’m stuck in bed. _’_

_Lance shrugged his blankets away, suddenly finding them too suffocating to bear._

_‘_ Mom and Dad had all these plans for today and I wrecked them,’ _he sniffled. ‘_ Bet they wish that they didn’t have me around now.’

_‘Good morning, baby. How are you feeling? Any better?’_

_At the sound of Carolyn’s gentle voice, Lance yanked the blankets back up and turned away from the door. He felt guilty about the ruined holiday along with the thoughts and feelings he was having; thus Lance was a little ashamed to face her._

_‘I’m tired,’ he grumbled. ‘My chest hurts, and it’s too hot.’_

_‘I’m sorry, baby,’ Carolyn said as she sat down on the bed. She inserted a thermometer into his mouth, and while they waited for the results, Carolyn ran her fingers through Lance’s hair. Lance closed his eyes and leaned into the touch; he always found it soothing when she did that._

_‘How is he?’ David said, walking into the room._

_‘He still doesn’t feel well,’ she said, taking the thermometer out and studying it._

_‘102…better than before,’ Carolyn said. Lance started coughing again, and Carolyn went back to stroking his hair._

_‘Hurts…I don’t…want to…cough…anymore,’ Lance whined as the fit subsided._

_‘We know you don’t, sport,’ David said. ‘But don’t worry, you should be feeling better in another day or so.’_

_The Sweets started to leave when Lance sniffled hard, stopping them._

_‘I don’t want to stay in bed anymore,’ he pouted. ‘Don’t leave me alone.’_

_‘We won’t, Lance,’ David smiled, ignoring his son’s grouchiness. ‘It’s a holiday, so we should spend time together.’_

_David then bent down and scooped Lance up into his arms and carried him down to the family room. Carolyn was close behind and she set up a stack of pillows and blankets for Lance so he could rest on the couch. She even handed him his teddy bear, Mr. B, for company._

_‘There now, I’ll go get you something to eat,’ Carolyn said, walking toward the kitchen._

_‘See…you’ll be spending the day with us,’ David grinned as he sat down next to Lance. ‘Now, what would you like to do?’_

_‘I…I want you to read to me,’ Lance said. David nodded and left to get a book out of Lance’s room. He soon returned and started to open it up, but stopped when he saw Lance pouting again._

_‘What is it now, sport?’_

_‘It’s too cold to lay here,’ Lance sniffed._

_‘Would you rather go back to your room?’ David offered._

_‘No! I want to stay with you,’ Lance whined. David sighed, but kept his smile._

_‘Lance, you can be the worst patient at times,’ he said. David then lifted Lance into his lap and wrapped the blankets around him, holding him close._

_‘Better?’  David asked as he picked the book back up. Lance nodded, and David started to open the book again._

_‘D…Dad?’ Lance murmured the word still somewhat awkward for him to say._

_‘What is it, Lance?’ David said, his grin widening again at his son’s use of that title._

_‘Thank you,’ he said snuggling up against David._

_‘You’re welcome, sport,’ David said as he turned to the start of the book._

* * *

 

Overheated yet again, Sweets woke up and shoved his blankets away. He was growing weary of being sick and never being comfortable.

“Hey Sweets, what’s with that face?”

Sweets looked over to see Angela, Cam and Hodgins standing in the doorway of his room. Embarrassed at his current attire of a tee-shirt and boxer shorts, the therapist immediately yanked a blanket over to cover himself.

“Um, hi…Doctor Saroyan, Doctor Hodgins…Angela,” he said, wishing that they hadn’t seen his Star Wars themed underpants. “What’s going on?”

“Brennan mentioned that you weren’t feeling well, so we thought we come visit you,” Cam smiled as she walked into the room.

“Thank you,” Sweets said, trying to smile back. “I appreciate, but I’m fine. Really.”

“Well you don’t look fine,” Angela said, doubtful. Another coughing fit from Sweets only seemed to accentuate her argument.

“Actually with a temperature of 101.9 as of 45 minutes ago, Doctor Sweets is not fine,” Brennan called from the next room.

Sweets sighed; while he was very appreciative of the fact that Brennan and Booth had taken such good care of him, his irritability from his illness made it hard for him to always enjoy this treatment.

“Well we’re glad it’s not serious anyway,” Hodgins said. “And we brought you some stuff to help you get through it.”

The three of them proceeded to stack a bunch of goodies onto the nightstand beside the therapist’s bed: Cam had brought extra tissues, cough drops and a humidifier, Angela had brought flowers and some hand drawn “get well” cards, and Hodgins brought a couple of books and DVDs for him to pass the time.

“Thanks again, guys,” Sweets murmured, warmed by the gesture of his friends. He wanted to be more conversational, but suddenly his eyelids did not want to stay open.

“Sweets should probably take some more medicine and get some rest,” Brennan said, walking into the room with a glass of water and a pill in her hands. The others nodded and gave Sweets their well-wishes and their good-byes with each of them even giving the therapist a brief hug before leaving. After they were gone, Sweets took the water and pill that Brennan had offered him. The moment he had taken the medicine though, he became to cough again.

When he was done, Sweets collapsed back against his pillows and held his chest. The pain from all the coughing was an almost continuous ache now, which did nothing to help his mood.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Brennan asked. “Perhaps something for the discomfort in your chest?”

“No, nothing,” Sweets said, burying himself under his blankets. He tried to lie as still as he could; figuring that the anthropologist would eventually grow bored and leave. After almost a half an hour, she finally did just that, and Sweets was alone again. Much to his surprise though, this made him tear up.

He suddenly wished that his parents were here. Sweets knew that such a wish was impossible, and that it did him no good to long for things that could never happen. But he couldn’t stop himself. Sweets remembered how his mother always tenderly attended to his physical needs while his father tended to his moodiness and anxiety.

The psychologist sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut. Being ill always seemed to give him a sense of fragility and vulnerability that always managed to depress him and make him feel insecure. As a child, he could rely on David and Carolyn to soothe these feelings away. As an adult, Sweets realized that it was a lot harder to do on his own…and he never was completely successful.

“Sweets…why are you hiding in the bed? Is the room too cold for you again?”

Sweets peeked out from under the covers to see Booth standing over him. The psychologist sniffed again and shook his head.

“It’s…it’s not too bad,” he said, trying to hide his shivering. The psychologist could barely remember the events from yesterday, but he sensed that Booth had had to take care of him a great deal. Sweets felt guilty and a little ashamed that Booth had had to do so much for him.

“I see Cam and the rest of them stopped by,” Booth said as he looked at the things that had been left for Sweets. He then picked up one of the DVDs.

“Hey, I’ve been wanting to see this movie myself for a while now,” Booth grinned.

“Go ahead,” Sweets said, glumly. “I don’t mind if you watch it.”

“Great…I’ll go tell Bones,” Booth said as he started to walk out of the room. “Hopefully she finally got around to buying herself a real TV and DVD player…”

Sweets frowned and burrowed back into the bed. He couldn’t really blame Booth for not wanting to stay with him considering his gloomy mood. A part of him was glad that Booth was getting the chance to have some fun with Brennan, knowing how much they enjoyed each other’s company.

But another part of him wished that he hadn’t been left alone.

The psychologist turned toward the wall and closed his eyes. He thought about trying to sleep again, but then he felt a hand clasp his shoulder. He looked up to see Booth leaning over him again.

“If you’re really tired, you can sleep out there, but you’re not staying in here,” Booth told him. The agent then helped him into a sitting position and wrapped a comforter around Sweets’ shoulders.

“Booth…you don’t have to…”

“Come on, Sweets,” Booth said, helping him to his feet. “You’ve been cooped up in here all day and the last thing you need is to spend all evening alone in here too. I brought us some more Chinese food, and you should try and see if you can handle eating some of it. Bones is making a place for you on the couch, so let’s go.”

The two of them made their way to the front room. Sweets was still very weak and ended up clinging to Booth for support as he walked. When they got there, Brennan had just finished stacking some pillows so that Sweets could sit up or lie down in an elevated position depending on how he felt. After he sat down she gave him some more blankets to cover up with, and Booth handed him a paper carton of food with a fork.

“Let me know if you want more,” Booth said as he went over to put the movie into the DVD player. “Try to eat as much as you can.”

“I could use some water,” Sweets said, starting to sweat again.

“I’ll get it,” Brennan said, dashing off for the kitchen.

“Bones, you’ll miss the movie,” Booth protested. “You should let me get it.”

“No I won’t,” she called from the kitchen. “I’ve noticed that DVDs tend to have a number of advertisements and previews on them that run before the actual movie begins.”

“Yeah, well…but that’s often the best part,” Booth smiled. “The trailers…It’s where they put in all the good stuff from a movie.”

“Why would they do that?” Brennan said as she returned with a glass of ice water.

“So that you’ll want to see the movie,” the agent replied.

“That’s a foolish marketing technique,” Brennan huffed after she gave Sweets the water.

“How do you figure that, Bones?”

“Well if what you say is true, that the previews contain all of the best parts of a film, then why should I go see the actual movie having seen the preview?” she wondered. “Following your logic, the rest of the movie will either be just filler or will probably be mediocre.”

Booth looked like he was going to respond to her comments, but stopped when he saw that Sweets had stopped eating his food and was now just picking at it.

“What’s the matter, Sweets?” he asked. “Not hungry?”

“I…I just feel a little queasy is all,” Sweets said, sitting the carton down on the coffee table across from him.

“You should eat more than that,” Brennan said. “Your body will have a harder time fighting off the infection if you aren’t getting enough nourishment.”

“Maybe a little later,” the psychologist mumbled, pulling the blankets close to him. The hot and cold spells were getting to him, and longed for the chance to feel even remotely comfortable again.

“What’s wrong, Sweets?” Booth frowned, noting how miserable he suddenly appeared.

“It’s nothing,” Sweets said, looking down. As the words left his lips, it occurred to Sweets that Booth would see right through his lie, making him question why he had tried to deceive Booth in the first place.

“You know, you can be the worst patient at times along with being a terrible liar,” Booth smirked at him.

“Perhaps his fever his making it hard for him to achieve a comfortable resting position,” Brennan proposed. “Maybe one of us should….”

“Oh no, I’m not letting Sweets use me for a pillow again,” Booth grumbled. Sweets instantly began blushing.

‘ _Wait…again? So I had done that at some point before?’_ the therapist thought to himself. At that moment, he really wished he could remember more of what happened the day before.

“Then I can sit with him,” Brennan said, getting up to move to the couch.

“No…you don’t have to do that, Doctor Brennan,” Sweets said, guilty at the idea of her having to take care of him even more.

“It’s all right, Sweets,” she assured him. “There’s more than enough room on the couch for both of us.” She sat down near his feet and re-positioned the blankets around the therapist as she settled in.

Booth then rolled his eyes and got up from his chair. He then propped Sweets up and sat down on the other side of him. The agent then moved the pillows around, jamming one of them into the space between him and Sweets.

“There,” he told Sweets. “If you need to sleep, this is your pillow…not my chest. Got that?”

“Understood,” Sweets blushed again, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“Good…and look, the movie’s starting,” Booth said as the credits began to roll onto the screen.

The psychologist snuggled into his blankets and sank into the couch. He relished the warmth that came from sitting between Booth and Brennan, and was delighted to discover that he was warm without being overheated.

But even more importantly than that, the dark, anxious feelings Sweets was wrestling with were quickly dissipating.

“Agent Booth, Doctor Brennan,” he murmured. “Thank you…for this and everything else.”

“You’re welcome Sweets,” Brennan said with a smile.

“It’s no big deal, Sweets,” Booth said with surprising gentleness. “Now, just relax and enjoy the movie.”

Sweets nodded and the three of them leaned back to watch the TV. About ten minutes later, Sweets fell into a deep, restorative sleep, the first one he had had since becoming ill. His head still managed to land onto Booth’s shoulder, but the agent didn’t let it bother him and decided not to move Sweets. Instead he and Brennan let the therapist curl up between them and enjoyed the movie together in relative silence.

And while Sweets may have missed the movie, he ended up with a night full of pleasant dreams and memories. 


	7. Chapter 7

Even though Sweets ended up sleeping peacefully for most of the night, the next day was mostly spent in a haze. Although his coughing was no longer as severe, the psychologist became increasingly tired. He ended up spending the entire day in bed.

Throughout the day, the Jeffersonian staff came back to visit him again, but Sweets could remember very little about what was said or done during these visits.

Brennan continued to tend to him. She set up the humidifier that Cam had brought over and had spent some time reading about other natural remedies that could ease Sweets’ symptoms, trying a few of them out here and there with mostly positive results. When she wasn’t doing that, she continued to make sure that the psychologist took his medicine and continued to keep a close eye on his temperature and other vitals.

Booth also tried to do his part. He frequently sat with Sweets, often providing cooled washcloths to give the therapist some relief from his fever. The agent also made several meals that his Pops had taught him to make including his famous grilled cheese and soup. But most of all he tried to find ways to keep Sweets’ spirits up.

“I know it’s pretty bad now, but it’s not going to last forever, Sweets,” Booth told him while he watched over him one evening. “It probably seems like it, but I’m sure it will get better soon.”

Booth’s words turned out to be prophetic because sometime during that night, Sweets’ fever finally broke, and the therapist ended up sleeping for most of the next day.  He ended up staying at Brennan’s for a couple more days after that until he was strong enough to get around the apartment on his own.

By that point, Sweets begged them to let him stay at his own place for the rest of his recovery. Booth and Brennan relented only when he promised them that he would not try to go into work for at least another week and after they set up a schedule for everyone to stop by his apartment to check up on him periodically.

Once he had settled in his own place, Sweets ended up spending a lot of his time on his couch in the front room, napping and reading books. He enjoyed having time to himself again, but there was still a little twinge of regret at not having his friends so close to him while he recovered.

He did not have much time to dwell over this though for his new routine was frequently broken up by the many visits from Booth, Brennan and the others. Thus there were many more days filled with homemade meals, numerous stories from work, and evenings spent watching movies with one or more of the Jeffersonian staff.

Fortunately, the doctor’s predictions for Sweets’ condition turned out to be accurate and after a week of resting at his own place, Sweets’ pneumonia had begun to clear. The psychologist soon felt ready for work, but agreed to only working for half-days for the first week back and waiting to see patients again for a little while after that so as to be sure not to spread his illness around the office.

* * *

 

On his first day back to work, he decided to start paying off his debt to Booth and had met him and Brennan for breakfast that the Royal Diner. While Booth ordered himself a full and hearty breakfast, Sweets decided to stick to a light meal to be safe. Despite the impending bill, the psychologist found that he relished being able to spend time with his two favorite patients while in a more coherent state of mind.

“I’m telling you Bones, nothing tastes better than a free meal,” Booth smirked as he took another bite of toast. Brennan rolled her eyes; Booth had been ribbing her ever since they arrived at the restaurant for not holding Sweets to the same agreement the agent was.

“What we know as flavor is a result of the food triggering receptors on the tongue combined with minute particles reacting with olfactory sensors in the nose,” she countered. “Whether the food tastes good or not depends on the proprieties of the food itself and your ability to sense them. Not on how much it costs.”

“Then why is this one of the best breakfasts I’ve had in a long time, hmmm?” Booth said as he scooped up some eggs onto his fork. “It’s not like any of the recipes have changed…And I’m pretty sure Aaron is still running the griddled back there.”

“Perhaps Doctor Brennan is implying that your enjoyment is not derived as much from the food as it is other factors,” Sweets piped in. “Like maybe your feelings about not having to pay for it.”

“I hate psychology,” Brennan replied. “So no, I wouldn’t imply that at all, Sweets.”

“But Agent Booth does have a valid point,” Sweets said as he sipped at his coffee.

“Ha, see that Bones,” the agent grinned. “I have a valid point…Thanks Sweets.”

“It’s probably only valid if you give psychology credence beyond its limits as a subjective soft science,” Brennan said between bites of oatmeal. “Otherwise it’s only based in opinion as opposed to actual facts.”

“Ah, but there’s no way that you could know that for sure unless you knew what that point was,” Booth responded.

“I will admit that it’s impossible to make any sort of reasonable judgment without knowing more about your line of thought,” the anthropologist said. “So what is your point?”

“My point is….um….what is my point, Sweets?” Booth said, turning to the psychologist for help.

“Your point is that the experience itself can enhance any enjoyment that you get out of this meal,” Sweets answered. “The pleasure one feels, the sense of calm that one can have, the gratitude one can get for being able to have these moments…It heightens a person’s awareness past the usual grind of daily rituals and routines. Thus, while he is eating, Agent Booth is better able to appreciate the meal because he is actively relishing the food and the mood surrounding it.”

“That was….” Brennan paused and took a bite before starting again.

“I cannot find a flaw in your logic,” she conceded. 

“Looks like I won this argument,” Booth said proudly. “Mark that one down, Sweets.”

“But I am curious to know how you knew that that was what Booth was referring to,” Brennan told Sweets. “After all, his language didn’t seem to head in that direction.”

“It’s because….because it’s true for me right now too,” Sweets smiled, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. “This has been one of the best breakfasts I’ve had in a long time as well.”

“But you had to pay for yours and all you had was some coffee and eggs,” Brennan said. “How can you be enjoying it as much as Booth?”

Sweets blushed again and looked down at his plate, making a show of trying to stab at his eggs. But even though he didn’t say a word, Booth quickly realized what the psychologist was thinking and responded with a grin.

“Thanks Sweets,” he said softly. “And…you’re welcome.”

Brennan watched them for a couple moments, confused at first by Booth’s words. But as she continued to think about it, a flicker of understanding finally passed through her mind, and she was also warmed by what the psychologist had said.

“Over the past couple of days…I have realized that the experiences common to families are often than very rewarding and pleasant despite any possible inconvenience,” she said. “So thank you for letting us share that with you…and for further illustrating that truth today.”

“You’re welcome, Doctor Brennan,” Sweets grinned.

After they all finished what was on their plates, Booth pushed away from the table.

“I should get to the office,” the agent said. “Work is starting to pile up on me again.”

“And I need to get back to the lab and start cataloging those new remains that we just got over the weekend,” Brennan said as she stood up.

“So…same time tomorrow, Agent Booth?” Sweets said as he picked the bill up from the table.

“Same time tomorrow, Sweets,” Booth said as he got up. He and Brennan began to leave, but before reaching the door, the agent turned back toward Sweets.

“Oh…and don’t worry about the tab tomorrow,” he said. “I’ve got that one covered.”

Sweets could not stop smiling as he watched them leave. And it had very little to do with the fact that he was off the hook for breakfast tomorrow.

 

 


End file.
